


Whispers in the Dark

by FullOfBoredom



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dismemberment, M/M, kross - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:35:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28948287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOfBoredom/pseuds/FullOfBoredom
Summary: He’d die within view of the castle, alone, his dust scattered to the wind without a home, like so many others he’d known.Maybe Killer would find his jacket tomorrow.
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48





	Whispers in the Dark

Cross really didn’t like Ink. Something about those emotionless eyes, the sharp smile, really got to him. Maybe it was the reminder of his own dark eyed companion at home, except this time, there was nothing underneath that face, no heart to the core. 

“Can you afford to space out, little guard?” The paintbrush struck right up under his chin. Cross flew back on the ground. His dazed eyes could only pick up the ceiling, though the creeping horror his limbs wouldn’t yet listen. Struggling only increased the panic. “Now how should I serve you to your king?”

Thick streams of ink bound him to the floor, wrists and ankles first, chest and mouth next. The mouth ink had covered his nose, half strangling him. Even if he didn’t need air, it was NICE.

No one even knew he was out here right now. He’d gone off to clear his head, after his usual argument with Killer about what they were even doing, a name to whatever weird thing they were sharing. He hadn’t even told anyone about this little clearing out the outskirts of the castle’s concealed world.

Apparently there’d been a security breach for a long time now. How could Ink have slipped in undetected otherwise? Ink paced before settling on a thought, crouching down to pin Cross with his creepy fucking stare.

“How about I serve your head on a platter?” He stroked the side of Cross’s face, the poor guard attempting to wrench his head away. Ink only stroked more enthusiastically.

“If you had a pretty face, it’d be a real present but I’ll settle for sending him an insulting offering.” When he stood, he smoothed out his brush’s bristles, humming to them with an upbeat tune, pulling the magic into them to seal the break to keep Cross’s head from dusting with his soul. And as much as it would be embarrassing if anyone was here, Cross couldn’t stop the tears sliding down his eyes. Screaming didn’t make a single sound. He’d die within view of the castle, alone, his dust scattered to the wind without a home, like so many others he’d known. 

Maybe Killer would find his jacket tomorrow.

“Good bye crybaby.” Cross closed his eyes for the swipe.

“FUCK!” He’d opened them to a splatter of red. Spewed over his skull, warm red magic blinded him. A weight on his chest, a light burning on his collar, and the realization he was alive, all hit in succession before he could even consider the sound.

“Killer. Come to lend Cross a hand?” 

“Something like that.” Cross could hear the clench in his jaw, biting back anger at something Cross couldn’t see. “I hope you enjoyed your little spy trips inkstain, because Nightmare’s gunna seal whatever hole you crawled out of.” Killer spit at him. An adjustment of feet, his fighting stance. “Now c’mon. I can take ya with one hand tied behind my back anyway.”

A lot of ringing, Killer knife against the paintbrush’s ferrule, but it had moved from directly over him.

Killer had come to get him after their fight. He wanted to fucking kiss him he was so happy. 

And maybe he would, but freeing himself first would be best.

He struggled against the thick ink restraints. Wiggling had started to chip the edges, half cracking his palms to scratch at the tops, wearing down every angle until the right hand got enough freedom to actually move. It cracked free with one good push. He freed his other hand quickly, pushing up with his elbows to sit. The weight from his chest hit his lap but he still couldn’t fucking see, all this red damn ink on his eyes and black ink over his mouth.

His hands clutched at his mouth. Cracking it free hurt like hell. His first gulp of air hit his lungs like a saving grace. He freed up his nose next and hauled more breath in.

All he could smell was blood.

The sickening realization had him scrubbing his face with his jacket sleeves to get it OFF. When he felt clear, he opened his eyes to take in the surroundings. 

Killer was fighting Ink off pretty well. From here, it looked pretty even, though Killer was holding back a lot. He never played that defensively. Killer whirled around to block a wide swing and that’s when Cross saw it.

_His arm was GONE_.

The weight in his lap jumped to mind. He hated being right.

It was still wrapped in part of Killer’s sleeve, having been cut off with the rest. It hadn’t dusted (Ink had been trying to preserve Cross’s head), but Killer had lost so much blood, the fact he could fight Ink at all made his head spin. 

He really should help.

He freed his legs with the swings of his blade to stand. He hesitantly pulled the arm to his chest to strap it along the inside of his jacket, safe from any blows he could take fighting. He’d never forgive himself if he lost Killer’s whole fucking arm.

“Bout time Crossy. Let’s get him out of here.” Even with one arm, Killer still pushed forward so gracefully. Cross wasn’t a slouch in battle, but Killer did things with a flair, you couldn’t look away. The dance of battle flowed forward, Cross keeping in step to not hold Killer back, Killer repeating a stanza to let Cross catch up. Together, they got the asshole to slink back into a corner.

“See ya later bastards.” He fled into a pool of his namesake.

“We gotta tell the boss.” Killer turned back towards the castle. Cross grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around.

“Killer, we have to stop the bleeding first!” Cross huffed, gesturing to the dusting edges of the broken bone. 

“It’s whatever. I’m losing it anyway. It’ll be better for it to dust to a joint, easier to replace with some shit.” Killer shrugged, gesturing with his head to the castle. “I wanna report to the boss and eat some food. Blood loss is a bitch.” He flipped his knife into his sleeve without a single care. Cross didn’t release him.

“You…chose to lose an arm for me?” Cross knew he hadn’t really, but Killer didn’t know Ink’s plan, just took the swing for Cross’s head without question. Killer turned those empty sockets to look at him.

“No, I totally tripped into it by mistake.” He laughed at Cross’s small glare. “Of course I fucking chose to lose an arm for your neck Criss Cross. I can live with one arm.” He waved the remaining one dismissively. “Now stop being all fucking sappy about it and let’s get back. Boss’ll have a field day with this.”

Cross watched him walk away. Something airy and light made itself at home in his soul. It was creepy as hell to find holding his “not-boyfriend”’s arm romantic in any dimension, but maybe…

“Killer?”

When he turned around again, Cross kissed him hard. Blood soaked, reeking of sweat, in ruined clothes, in the middle of the dark forest, it wasn’t the best place for a confession, but Cross hoped he’d read the meaning without having to say it. He pressed the arm into Killer’s chest when he backed up. Killer’s eyelights had manifested and watched him turn towards the castle. He ran ahead when Killer looked at his gift.

“Boss might be able to fix it. C’mon!”

Killer stared for a little longer, before grinning. He spoke into the night against the wind.

“Yeah, definitely rather have lost the arm.” He shook his head and followed to the castle.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt "Whispers in the Dark" by Skillet.


End file.
